Dissolving
by Oicherealtai
Summary: Because even the strongest of memories fade over time. And alcohol doesn't help. Short Oneshot. GinRan. Post 416. Rated T for mature themes and swearing.


A typical Tuesday evening, after a long day of paperwork. Rangiku Matsumoto is seated on a random stool at a random bar in a random part of Rukongai. Ahhh, as if it even matters anyway. She picks up a dish of sake, glares into it. Downs it. Warmth courses through her body, settling deep down and sending shivers of pleasure throughout her torso. She listens to the low rumble of bar-goers, punctuated by occasional bouts of raucous laughter or thud of a dish slammed down. The bartender, a tall, surprisingly buff female, cleans a dish with a rag and glances offhandedly at Rangiku.

"A penny for your thoughts, missus?" She questions. With a startled twitch, Rangiku jolts from her quiet meditation and answers with the false cheer she usually exudes.

"Oh, nothing much! Just enjoying my sake!"

"Alright, hon, but if ya need something, get my attention and I'll help ya right quick."

"I'll do that!"

After the bartender focuses on another depressed drinker, she sighs and drops the façade of happiness, relaxing into a quiet, un-Rangiku-like silence.

Really, she should be at home, preparing a bath and heading off to bed. Her hangovers never sit well with Hitsugaya-Taichou.

However, the thought of solitude, being alone in her suffering, is repulsive. Even nearby drinkers are enough to make her feel less lonely. After the Winter War, it's too hard for her to even be separated from people, especially those she loves. Rangiku revels in company; she shines in the crowd. When she is alone, she withers like a dying flower. Tightly clenching a fist, perfectly manicured nails gouging into her palm, she feels no pain. Only grief.

Loss.

Every part of her being screams, pounds against glass walls inside of her. Composure surrounds her like onionskin, oh-so-very breakable. Alcohol helps. Even if only for a few short hours, it helps. Numbs the pain, dulls the incessant pounding. Fades the blindingly bright, painfully sharp memories in her mind.

But it never works perfectly.

Even when she tries, the slightest nostalgic moment sends her over the edge. The memories stab at her senses, making her eyes prick and tear with agony. The cruel, torturous memories.

Especially of him.

Ichimaru Gin. The snake-captain. The only person who ever truly knew him was himself, but she came damn close. Doesn't growing up together count for something? Today, mere weeks after his untimely demise, she can still feel every touch, kiss, tender embrace.

It's harder now, to recollect the details of their time together. For today, she drowns herself in sake, swims through memories into the years long past. The long days of teasing, games, and innocence as poor children in Rukongai. The awkward moments that seemed to increase in frequency as they aged. The days he wasn't there, when she spent long hours worrying. The heartbreak when he didn't return for days on end. The relief, masked by her feigned anger, when he returned, covered in blood, dirt, bruises, and miraculously alive. The sheer terror of losing him.

It puts everything into perspective, now.

Sometimes, she thinks about the days they shared. Spontaneous dates, picnics, sparring matches. The times they had faced off against hollows; every grunt of pain and whoop of victory. The poisonous smile that appeared on his face mere moments before pouncing on a screaming hollow.

Right now, she reminisces about the long, passionate nights. Love and lust and fire and ice and pain and pleasure all wrapped into moments so intense, she can't help but let a tear slip past at the bittersweet memories. She dissolves in them, lets the fragments in her mind disperse and reform into different images, every last one of him.

She knows that one day she won't remember his true smile, his soft touch, the innocent times before the Academy. Her mind will betray her, snuff out the good along with the painful. She won't be able to recollect every plane of his toned chest, all the muscles in his arms. She will be unable to dredge up the exact shade of his hair or the expression he wore the day they met. Maybe one day, she won't be able to remember his parting words. She knows that when that day comes, life won't be worth living anymore.

Returning to reality, Rangiku stares.

Her dish is empty. Shit.


End file.
